A Nice English Custom
by The Divine Comedian
Summary: Features: Jack, Anamaria, a dog, and a somewhat unlucky soldier of the Royal Navy. Oneshot. Desperately tries to be slash and fails.


Note: inspired by Jadefuchs in a forum far, far away, beta-read by daroos and vangie, written by... well... me. Have to be involved somewhere. Don't own it, though, as am not Disney.  
  
I actually had Jack/Anamaria in mind when I wrote this, only it pretty much stayed there. It got slashy on its own accord.  
  
I swear.  
  
***  
  
**A Nice English Custom**   
  
***  
  
It was a dark and stormy night.  
  
The town of Port Royal lay quietly where it had always been, in all its lawful glory. The people were, according to what was not a rule but more of a guideline, asleep, after yet another day filled with hard but honest work, prayers and the occasional cup of tea. They were English, after all.  
  
Those who were not asleep were on duty, to watch out for those who were neither asleep nor on duty - couldn't have _that_ sort in Port Royal, now, could they? Fortunately, there was an easy way of disposing of them.  
  
Down in the Port Royal prison, two of these good-for-nothing, cursing, evil, dangerous, incoherent (and probably blasphemous) criminals were currently located, and furthermore most displeased with their situation.  
  
***  
  
"You don't happen to have a hairpin on you, do you, love?", Captain Jack Sparrow called as loudly as he dared. In the opposite cell, Anamaria merely lifted the brim of her hat to grace him with a meaningful glare. She seemed strangely calm, but maybe that had to do with lack of experience. It had to be.  
  
Jack himself felt slightly nervous.  
  
Or maybe that had to do with her knowing that Commodore bloody Norrington was entirely too much of a gentleman to have a woman hang.  
  
And Jack still felt slightly nervous.  
  
Jack had met many complicated women in his life; complicated women with complicated dresses and complicated corsets (Admittedly, he knew his way around those by now, but still, fashion was almost as imaginative as he was). And complicated hairdos with hairpins in them. Just his luck that he was stuck with the one woman in the world who wasn't interested. At all.  
  
"Ana?"  
  
No answer. Jack sighed.  
  
"Anamaria, love?"  
  
Still no answer.  
  
"You have never broken out of a prison, am I right?"  
  
"Have never got myself caught. _Jack_."  
  
The captain took a look around his cell. What was it that he needed? Leverage, right. He tried to move the bars by shaking them. However, he decided that it was too loud, too pointless, and entirely too embarrassing. Anamaria grinned.  
  
That woman had no respect.  
  
"Why, how often have _you_ broken out of a prison, captain?" Jack glanced up.  
  
"So far? Every time."  
  
They had strenghtened the bars. Jack was certain he had to thank himself for that - had broken out of here not six months ago -, but as much as he tried, he could not manage to feel proud of himself.  
  
"It's easy, really..."  
  
Moonlight was protruding from a narrow gap in the wall and Barbossa's monkey came to his mind. Two hours until dawn.  
  
"If you approach it methodically. First plan didn't work."  
  
"Second plan?"  
  
"The keys. You got anything to bait them with?"  
  
Anamaria took a very thorough look at him.  
  
"Well, you've got that bone in your hair."  
  
Jack felt for it. She couldn't mean -?  
  
"That's ivory. If you please."  
  
Anamaria shrugged. "Bone," she insisted.  
  
He needed at least ten minutes and all ten fingers to untwist the ivory stick from his dreadlocks. Hadn't been pretty to begin with, he decided.  
  
Jack whistled for the dog.  
  
Which came sprinting from some corner of the prison, snapped for the ivory and ran for it, all the while carefully avoiding letting go of any keys whatsoever.  
  
They were hanging from a hook from the wall, anyway.  
  
"See? He likes me."  
  
Anamaria sighed. "Next plan."  
  
_Damnyouwoman..._  
  
Just to spice things up, Jack decided upon a moment of offended silence.  
  
"You don't have a plan, do you?" she asked, a bit wearily this time.  
  
"Would you mind showing a bit of enthusiasm?" Jack sat down again.  
  
"Guess we can always wait for a Turner with a hero complex. That used to work."  
  
"And you're just about to tell me why it won't this time, aren't you?"  
  
"Well... Will's gone on honeymoon," said Jack. And then, in a somewhat lower voice: "he shouldn't have married her. Really."  
  
"Next plan."  
  
"Let's wait until the guard comes around next time, I'd say."  
  
"And -?"  
  
"Get a woman to seduce him."  
  
Anamaria spat eloquently on the ground and pulled her hat back over her face. There was the sound of footsteps approaching.  
  
"Women," Jack sighed. He peered out of the bars.  
  
"Guess I'll have to do that on my own, then."  
  
***  
  
The footsteps were coming closer, but they didn't sound like three-hundred pound prison guard. The person walking around the corner didn't look like three-hundred pound prison guard, either. The not-so-subtle red and white uniform, the powdered hair (hair, hair, better not think of hair, Jack was still mourning that piece of ivory) and the composure, reminding him of a timid rabbit, let him conclude he was dealing with a - very young - soldier of the Royal Navy. Well, that would probably make everything much easier.  
  
One hour until dawn.  
  
"Hey, boy," hissed Jack, "over here!" His hands closed around the bars as he watched Anamaria retreating to the back of her cell. He could still see her fading smile below the brim of the hat. It was probably for the better, since he didn't want the soldier more nervous than necessary.  
  
As if caught, the man turned around.  
  
"I'm not supposed to talk with the prisoners."  
  
"You already are," said Jack with a sound smile. Number four (beautiful stranger - it was worth the try.)  
  
"Well..."  
  
_What is a beautiful woman like you doing at a place like this all on her own?_  
  
No. Nonononono.  
  
_May I offer you a drink?_  
  
Even regardless of the fact that the glorious Royal Navy had, among other things, unburdened Jack of his purse, this boy looked as if only half a mug of rum would make him want to sing Shanties, grow a beard and commit desertion, and although the imagery was amusing...  
  
A tad suspicious, non?  
  
_Have I threatened you before?_  
  
Wouldn't work, he decided. After a mental note to use an idle minute in the future to make up some slightly more spontaneous sounding pick up lines, he continued:  
  
"Come closer, boy, I can't see you properly."  
  
After making a tentative step forward, the soldier beamed all of a sudden.  
  
"Ah, it's you, Mr. Sparrow. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
"Captain. _Captain_ Sparrow," Jack corrected before he could control himself, "but please call me - Jack". He graced him with a carefully calculated puppy-eyed glance.  
  
"Ranks such as that are more appropriate in the military," his opposite replied a bit stiffly. And Jack had already lost his trump. Fantastic.  
  
"Still don't know anything about etiquette, do you?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"For once, you didn't tell me your name."  
  
"Halley. Edward Thomas Charles Halley. And, uh, Mr Sparrow... Jack... I think we should end it on this." He turned to go.  
  
"It's not as if I want you to share gems from the Commodore's bedroom," Jack said to Edward's back. "Oh, come on, Eddy, small talk - 'tis a nice English custom. How long have you been to Port Royal, by the way?"  
  
"We've arrived four months ago," Edward said tentatively and turned around again.  
  
"Had a nice crossing?"  
  
"Well, it was rather..."  
  
"Kept the mast upright? Polished the oars? Held on to the helm?" Jack cringed at the obviousness.  
  
"... crowded..."  
  
"Must have been lonely, without any..."  
  
"...but my comrades... great lads..."  
  
"Ah, we're coming to the point. I should know, I mean, I myself was once -," and at this point Jack tried to jovially slap the soldier on the back, through the bars, with bound hands, "a member of the Royal Navy." Yo ho. Very much so.  
  
"...but always had the wind coming from behi- what? _You?_"  
  
Hopeless.  
  
"Yeah, me. Was nice. We were just sitting there and, uh... compared our swords, practised with our swords, polished our swords, er... sometimes we were sailing, too..."  
  
"That one storm, right upon arriving at Port Royal..."  
  
Bloody hopeless.  
  
"Oh, and I'm not contagious," said Jack.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You may come back here."  
  
The soldier stepped into the light of the torch and Jack made an unexpected discovery.  
  
"Wait... I know that profile... turn to the left, will you?" The boy did as he was told. Jack narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You don't happen to look like someone I know?"  
  
"Well... everyone says I look exactly like my uncle."  
  
"And who's your uncle?"  
  
"Er... I'm not supposed to talk about that."  
  
"Eddy," said Jack solemnly, "within the next hour -" meaningful glance out of the window, "I will, how shall I put it, swing with the wind. I won't have enough breath to tell the world about all of your family connections."  
  
The soldier seemed to feel sorry.  
  
Right on there, lad.  
  
"It is, er...," he leaned forward and whispered... "the commodore."  
  
"JAMES BLOODY NORRINGTON?" Jack shouted louder than he had planned.  
  
"You know him?" Edward asked curiously.  
  
"Sure. We're old friends, James and me." Smile number two was forming on Jack's lips: old friend, soon to be subject of revenge. Nothing personal.  
  
If only his nephew weren't so slow on the uptake.  
  
"Oh, and as long as you're just standing there feeling sorry for me, would you mind unclasping those irons for me?"  
  
"Well, I'd prefer seeing you in irons, actually."  
  
"I understand, er, I mean, uh... whoa," breathed Jack, "kinky!" He gave Edward a measuring look. Edward gave back a discouragingly neutral look.  
  
Jack sighed deeply.  
  
"But Eddy, my hands are getting really numb and... and idle... and - stiff?"  
  
Edward thanked him for his efforts with an expression of utter confusion.  
  
"Er - _savvy,_ damnit?"  
  
A knowing smile spread on the soldier's face.  
  
"I think I could make an exception this time. You won't be able to flee, anyway."  
  
"Right," agreed Jack. When Edward was unlocking his handcuffs, he projected a mental "See?" into the general direction of Anamaria and discovered her very fake looking state of being asleep.  
  
Ah! So they would have some kind of privacy. The rest lay in his own hands.  
  
"Um - Eddy?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"Er..."  
  
"Well, are you here to grant a poor buccaneer his last wish?"  
  
He had been subtle so far. Now the time had come for something drastic.  
  
"Um, the Commodore thought that wouldn't be... uh, necessary. He said he knew what it was that you wanted."  
  
Jack gave an exasperated moan.  
  
"Please don't tell me he sent you down here with a bottle of rum."  
  
"He considered that, too, but -"  
  
"But?"  
  
"Er, he said that, uh, seeing as there will be ladies watching, he couldn't have you... er... on the gallow..." Edward proceeded to produce amazingly posh sounding vomiting sounds. Coming from an English gentleman, that was vaguely amusing, but Jack wasn't in the mood.  
  
"Listen, boy," he said, with a hint of something dangerous in his voice, "tell your Uncle Jim that I hereby offer to drink him under the table anytime. _Anytime._" Following that he tried to get back to a sunnier state of mind.  
  
"D'you want to know my last wish, Eddy?" he whispered. It was about time to get explicit.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow - Jack - the commodore has already arranged -"  
  
"I see." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Those preferences run in the family?"  
  
Edward beamed.  
  
"In about half an hour, the priest will arrive to have you confess."  
  
"!!!" said Jack.  
  
Anamaria was softly snickering in the background.  
  
Jack didn't want to admit - not to himself and especially not to Anamaria -, but this boy seemed just too damn oblivious even for him.  
  
Maybe he should try the _priest_ instead.  
  
Grim determination overcame him. He winked for the soldier and proceeded to try not to breathe into his face too much.  
  
"Come closer, I want to tell you a secret."  
  
Edward seemed politely puzzled, but came closer anyway. Jack looked shortly, but intensely heavenwards.  
  
And then he took Edward's face into both hands and kissed him on the mouth.  
  
Typically English Gentleman. He could just as well try and kiss a flowery teacup.  
  
Edward's eyes widened; he staggered back and was eventually stopped by the bars of the opposite cell.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow!" was all he managed. And then two arms encircled him from behind.  
  
"Is there a problem, _Lieutenant?"_ Anamaria breathed into his ear. Jack kind of enjoyed watching Edward blush a deep red.  
  
"M-M-Midshipman, actually," stuttered Edward.  
  
Anamaria frowned for a second. "Only Midshipman?" she made sure.  
  
"I've been sick for a while," replied Edward almost aggressively. He grew back into a more timid state as Anamaria's hands wandered further. As if this was a _tea party_, Jack wondered.  
  
Hell, Anamaria, he didn't put the keys _there_.  
  
Anamaria was fast. And good. And the circumstances - in this case, a Midshipman of the Royal Navy who was somewhat frozen on the spot - were on her side. She only needed a few seconds to fumble Edward's sword from its sheath and hold it to his throat.  
  
"The keys, Edward," she said.  
  
"But..." Edward gave up.  
  
All things considered, this had been a pretty easy maneuver. The Royal Navy was getting soft. In Jack's times, though... well...  
  
"Goddamn bloody lock from hell, ratty wretched... thing, open, the fuck..." mumbled Anamaria while trying to simultaneously threaten the man in front of her cell and unlock the door from the inside. Took her far too long, as Jack was determined to tell her, but only when they were safe back on the Pearl.  
  
No, really.  
  
Open door, exit Anamaria, Edward in, close door. Jack liked things uncomplicated.  
  
"Sorry, lad," he said with almost convincing sympathy, "sometimes she's like that." Then he turned to Anamaria.  
  
"Nice. Now get me out."  
  
"Don't know. Maybe I'd prefer seeing you in irons, actually."  
  
"Uh... Ana, this is neither the place nor the... Ana!"  
  
His fellow pirate turned to leave, gracing Jack with a smile.  
  
He smiled back. Number five (pretty, female, somewhat violent).  
  
"Come on," he said, "save your handsome, charming, manly _goddamn captain_. Please."  
  
He leaned forward. "Admit it, love, you want it, too."  
  
The captain staggered forward when Anamaria unlocked the door. Her slap came a second too late, and when it came, it was almost gentle.  
  



End file.
